The Lightning Letters
by Ari Munami
Summary: 800 years on from the fall of Voldemort, a young historian sets out to solve the mystery of the Lightning Letters. Slashy. Chapter 5: Iris and Co visit the Manor. *Complete!*
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Yes, I should be working on SIS... but when I have the muse it's just great, I write lots in a very short space of time (hence the first six chapters of SIS being posted all at once!) and my muse for this new fic was working. I have two people to thank for inspiring me: A. S. Byatt for the book 'Possession' and Penelope-Z for her damn spooky ficlet 'Metamorphosis,' which got me thinking about this in the first place. It's slightly slashy, but not graphically so. So even if you don't like slash, I'm confident that you can read this without too much bother. Anyway, without further ado, onto the first chapter of:  
  
THE LIGHTNING LETTERS.  
  
'The Dark Age, as it has been so aptly named, although having taken place over 800 years ago, still has grave repercussions on society to this day. The wizarding population in the United Kingdom is still struggling to restore its numbers, and, whilst blood curses that destroyed so many families as recent as a century ago have all but been eradicated, we are still not as we once were.  
  
Despite this grave importance, in reality we know surprisingly little as to what actually took place during those 20-odd years, until the Dark Side was defeated and the Restoration slowly began. Book Burnings were common by the so-called 'Death Eaters' of the regime, if said texts did not conform to their ideals; and other information was destroyed simply to cripple the Light Side. That is not to say, however, that we know nothing of this time. The tales of the Dark Age have been so ingrained in legend and general knowledge that it is sometimes difficult to separate fact from fiction. However, we do know of the common enemy: Voldemort and his supporters, including the mass-executioner Lestrange. The Light Side was the Phoenix Order, led by Albus Dumbledore, and included arguably the most famous 'hero' of the time: Harry Potter.  
  
Strange though it may seem, we know more about Harry Potter's early years than we do know about his later life and finally his infamous defeat of Voldemort in the 'Bermodsey Battle,' which took place in roughly 2015. It is agreed by most historians that Potter was born probably in the early 1980s, and attended Hogwarts (main United Kingdom Wizarding School; an equivalent to Rosemount today) in the 1990s. Since the school was destroyed, it is impossible to verify this date.  
  
Potter was born to a Muggle-born mother, Lily, and 'Pure-blood' father James Potter. However, he was raised by Muggle relatives after his parents were both killed by Voldemort at the end of the First Uprising. Books that survive today tell us Voldemort was "defeated and destroyed" by little Harry Potter- his power was broken by the boy (for over a decade, at least), and that Harry was left unharmed by the encounter, save for a scar on his forehead. Potter was made famous, haled as a hero and given the title of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'.  
  
It is unknown why Voldemort wished to kill Harry. The widely accepted theory is that Potter was a descendant of Godric Gryffindor, a well-known wizarding figure of the times, who had helped to found Hogwarts less than two thousand years ago today. Voldemort, as a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, another Hogwarts Founder and enemy of Gryffindor, would wish to destroy any living Gryffindor relatives. It has also been suggested that both bloodlines passed down unusual magical powers to their descendants. Neither of these theories has been proved, however.  
  
After Potter's schooling, (suggested reading- AA Brown's 'The Boy-Who- Lived's Schooldays') it is assumed that he immediately began to work for the Phoenix Order under his tutor Dumbledore. Potter participated bravely in many battles and missions including 'Fawke's Stand' and 'Red Zero' (see 'Dark Days- Victories and Defeats'). There are also several accounts of Potter's magical abilities in detecting Voldemort's presence and future plans. Dumbledore believed, as he writes in the well-known 'Dumbledore- Black' letter that these powers were made possible through Potter's scar.  
  
It is common knowledge that Potter was finally able to defeat his adversity but lose his own life in the process during the Bermodsey Battle. He was probably about 30 at the time. Through an unknown mix of magic and Muggle techniques Potter (though not without the help of his colleagues) dealt the final blow to Voldemort and scattered the Dark Side, martyring himself in the process.  
  
Harry Potter is not only a well-known historical figure, but will be forever connected to literature in the modern day, as well as in the future. The so-called 'Lightning Letters' were excavated from his childhood Muggle home in 2636, where they had been hidden under floorboards. The 42 letters, written on a time-scale of over ten years, caused an uproar in both literary and historical circles due to their incredible significance.  
  
Obviously written by Potter's lover, these beautifully-composed love letters add a human face to the Dark Ages, so filled as they were with war and loss. The Lightning Letters are written with aching longing and compassion, in absolutely stunning prose. They are all addressed 'To Lightning'- obviously a nod to Potter's famous lightning-shaped scar. Several prominent literary figures in the wizarding community, including Martha Nitson, have described the letters as "probably the greatest wizarding literary work of all time."  
  
The author, however, remains a mystery.  
  
This unknown and obviously very important figure in Harry Potter's life, coupled with the romantic content of the letters themselves have spurned many to try and uncover the identity of Potter's mystery lover.  
  
There are two main theories as to the identity. Henry Phereson suggests that Virginia Weasley, daughter of famous Phoenix Member Arthur and sister of Potter's best friend, Ronald was the author. His evidence lies mainly in the well-documented fact that Virginia was in love with Potter. However, after investigating all the evidence, I believe that this love was unrequited. In further disagreement, I point out the fact that all 42 letters show the same furtiveness, as if the relationship *needed* to remain a secret from all around them. This would not be necessary if Virginia was indeed Potter's lover. Although their relationship would need to be, if at all possible, a secret from the Dark Side, it would be unnecessary for not even the other Phoenix Members to be aware of it.  
  
Hannah Iveston put forward the theory in her book 'Lightning Strikes' of 2709 that the mystery author was Potter's close friend Hermione Granger. She also highlighted the secretiveness of the letters, and suggested that this was due to the fact that Hermione was involved in a relationship with Ronald Weasley at the time (both survived the Bermodsey Battle and were married soon after). This strikes me as untrue, however. The three comrades- referred to as 'The Dream Team' by one rather cynical Phoenix member- have been well-documented and there is absolutely no evidence that Harry and Hermione were ever involved romantically.  
  
After meticulously reading the Lightning Letters, I have come to the conclusion that the author was someone who believed she was a fool to be involved with Potter, but could not help herself; and could certainly not tear herself away.'  
  
Alright. The finishing paragraph was slightly melodramatic, but it wasn't bad at all for a first draft. Iris Henderson stretched back from her desk, crunching and unclenching her aching hand.  
  
"Oh come on, aren't you finished yet?" Will asked her from where he was stretched out on the sofa. He was Iris's flatmate, best friend and occasional sounding-board; when he was in the mood for it, that is.  
  
Iris scowled "This is *important,*" she said. "I've decided on the subject of my next book. It may take me *years,* but I'm completely determined."  
  
"Let me guess," sighed Will over-dramatically. "Some boring old battle."  
  
"No," said Iris. "I've decided to find out who wrote the Lightning Letters."  
  
Will groaned, and covered his face with his hand. "Darling, *no.* Not *another* event that took place *aeons* ago, that nobody cared anything about."  
  
"*I* care!" said Iris hotly. "And so do lots of others!"  
  
"Anyway," went on Will as if she hadn't said anything, waving his hand in the air, "I thought they'd solved that puzzle. That friend of his... Hermione- I though it was her."  
  
"That's just a theory," said Iris. "And I just don't believe it. You have actually *read* the Lightning Letters haven't you, Will?"  
  
"Of course I have!" answered Will indignantly. He might be lazy, he might slag off his best friend's profession, but he would *never* admit to being ill-informed. "And at the very least we spent a whole *term* on the damn thing at Rosemount."  
  
"Well, then you should *know* it obviously wasn't Hermione Granger. Or that Virginia Weasley. No, definitely not."  
  
"You just want to do this book for the prestige," said Will after a minute, being deliberately provoking.  
  
"I most certainly do not! I'm very *interested.* Not that the prestige wouldn't be nice...."  
  
"AND you just fancy Harry Potter," Will continued.  
  
Iris sighed exasperatedly. "I most certainly do NOT," she said. "I think that's *you,* actually."  
  
This was true. Last year Will had seen a rare photograph of a 20-something Harry Potter, proclaimed him 'divine,' had blown up the picture and had hung it so that it covered an entire wall of the flat. Iris now eyed the picture ruefully.  
  
"I still don't know *how* you can make a career out of this, Iris," drawled Will, lighting a cigarette. "It's all so *dull,* and absolutely *ages* ago. They still used *wands,* for God's sake!"  
  
Iris sighed.  
  
Iris was 24. She had been sharing a flat with Will Self near Diagon Alley for three years. Iris was a historian, and wrote solely on the Dark Age. As a little girl, she had loved to hear the tales her grandmother used to tell her of that time. The Light Side, and Albus Dumbledore, and of course Harry Potter, who had led them all to victory. She loved to hear of a time that sounded quaint, and somehow very noble. And, as Will had pointed out, a time where they had still used wands.  
  
After leaving Rosemount School for the Magical Arts at 18, Iris jumped straight into writing her first book. In the freezing attic of her home, eating sour-tasting apples and wrapped in an old jumper, she had written her first book in under a year. Entitled 'Finding Their Feet,' it chronicled Britain's magical community in their attempt to rebuild their society. Iris had a flair for making history come alive, and the book had been very well-received. She had followed it up with two others: 'Tom,' about Voldemort, his background and what drove him to evil, and 'Dark Days- Victories and Defeats,' describing each battle in the Dark Age in gory detail. That was when she had first become interested in Harry Potter.  
  
Will did nothing. Will was very posh. He came from a well-to-do family and had enough money to live comfortably without doing a scrap of work. He was a lazy bugger and thought that Iris worked too hard. Iris would always roll her eyes whenever he voiced this opinion.  
  
Iris rolled her eyes at a lot of things. Especially when her mother, the dear, sweet, naïve woman- would ask innocently when Will was going to make an honest woman of her. Iris could never explain why it was highly unlikely- nay, make that completely implausible- that Will would ever marry *anyone,* (or at least any girl). Iris hoped that her father would gently explain the truth to her mother sometime soon.  
  
"So who do *you* think it is, Irie?" asked Will. "And just how do you propose to prove this when nobody else has for over two hundred years?"  
  
Iris smiled. "Everyone else who investigated it made one mistake," she said, eager to share her idea. "They only studied the *words* for information, not the actual text. I'm going to see the *original* Lightning Letters. There may be something about them that would afford some sort of clue..."  
  
"And just how are you so sure it's a woman?" asked Will, arching an eyebrow. "Did it ever occur to *anyone* that it might just be a man?"  
  
"Not *everyone's* a man, Will," said Iris, shaking her head.  
  
"And it's *such* a pity, isn't it," sighed Will.  
  
Iris rolled her eyes.  
  
***  
  
END OF CHAPTER ONE.  
  
Reviews greatly appreciated! 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank-you for the reviews! Here is the second chapter of:  
  
THE LIGHTNING LETTERS.  
  
The following month, Iris made her way to the Hogarth Museum, a tall, grey stone building that housed the majority of artefacts from the Dark Age.  
  
It had taken her three weeks to gain a permit from the Council in order to see the original Lightning Letters. The Council was very sensitive as to who had access to their precious artefacts; especially when they were as important and prestigious as the Lightning Letters. After a great deal of toing and froing, Iris's application had (grudgingly) been accepted.  
  
Truthfully, Iris wasn't overly fond of the Museum. The archives were run by goblins, and they took their job very seriously. Iris knew that before the Dark Age, they had run Britain's largest wizarding bank. Now they protected their artefacts as much as they had done their treasure. Iris had had to, of course, use the archives to a great extent whilst researching her first three books and, although she was now quite a familiar face, the goblins were still suspicious of her. There was many a time she was reading a text when a calculating, bearded face would come leaning out from behind a bookshelf, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything wrong. It made Iris *very* nervous indeed.  
  
She had just handed her accepted application to the goblin-in-charge (who had rewarded her with a suspicious look) when she felt a hand on her arm, and a voice said, "excuse me... is it Miss Henderson?"  
  
Iris looked round and into the face of a man she was quite sure she had never seen before in her life. He looked a few years older than she, with bright blue eyes, dark brown hair and a smattering of freckles.  
  
"Yes..." she answered confusedly.  
  
The man smiled at her. "Don't look quite so worried!" he laughed. "You don't know me, so you definitely haven't forgotten my name or anything like that. I'm Royal Deayton. I work in the Ancient Artefacts Department of the Museum here. I recognised you from your book sleeve photograph- so I just had to come over and tell you how much I enjoyed all three."  
  
"Oh! Well- thank-you!" Iris was still young enough to flush when praised.  
  
"So what are you working on now?" Royal continued.  
  
"Well, I'm here to research the Lightning Letters for my next book."  
  
"Really! How fascinating. Are you trying to solve the mystery? I've always had a soft spot for those letters. They seem to be the first thing that finally made people realise that the famous figures from the Dark Age were real, living individuals, not simply just names."  
  
"Exactly!" said Iris. At last, someone who *understood!* "I quite agree."  
  
"I already knew that from the way you wrote," Royal smiled. "Well, if you'll excuse me. I must get back to work. I hope to see you soon, Miss Henderson."  
  
"Good-bye. And thank-you."  
  
With a cheerful wave, Royal was gone. Iris focused her attention back to the rather disgruntled-looking goblin, offering him a wavering smile. Needless to say, it was not returned.  
  
***  
  
"YES!!! HEAVEN BE PRAISED!!"  
  
Iris jumped ten feet in the air and nearly scattered the very fragile Lightning Letters everywhere when this loud proclamation was literally *screamed* from somewhere in the dark recesses of the archives. Iris clutched her chest. Who was this person to be shouting when *some* people were trying to work?? The man deserved a dressing-down!  
  
Iris got up from her rather uncomfortable desk and stalked through the stacks, following a distinct if disjointed mumble:  
  
"Third one from the left, yes... that's it... now these two- yes! It all fits!!"  
  
Iris rounded a corner to come face-to-face with Royal Deayton, who was surrounded by an absolute sea of old photographs, each one waving cheerfully up at them. When Iris saw Deayton's joyful, lit-up face, she just couldn't stay angry at him any longer.  
  
"Miss Henderson!" he cried, grinning like a fool. "I'm terribly sorry if I disturbed you! It's just- that I do believe that I've found an early picture of Ron and Hermione Weasley!"  
  
"*Really?*" answered Iris, immediately interested. There were many pictures of Hermione and Ron in later life, surrounded by their numerous children and looking old and grey. Iris knew of only two pictures that survived of them at an earlier age, and both of these were badly damaged.  
  
"Yes! I was re-reading the letter Ron sent to Hermione during their first year in the Order- you know the one- when they talked about the previous summer at the Burrow, and how they looked so happy in the photographs, with Charles recovering from the Lighthouse Raid and Bill looking after him. Well, you may not know of it, but Daniel Lawrence, a top-notch researcher in my department found a photograph of Bill Weasley several months ago, when he was still working for Gringotts Bank in the 1990s."  
  
"Yes, I do believe that I heard something about it," answered Iris.  
  
"Well, I know it was a long shot, but I decided that in my spare time I'd look through the files of photographs to see if the photo mentioned in the letter still existed. Now that I knew what Bill looked like, and that Charles would be hurt, I could begin to search. It's taken me two months, but it's been worth it. Look!"  
  
Royal shoved the photograph into Iris's hand. She looked down. It showed a family scene, one that she had seen a hundred times in other photographs. The archive had thousand upon thousands of photographs from the Dark Age. The problem was, nobody knew who the people in them were, and if they had even survived the war.  
  
There were four people in the scene, three with shiningly bright red hair. One boy, who looked about Iris's age, was sat on a chair in the middle of the scene, leg obviously hurt and propped up on a stool. Another, slightly older man with long red hair drawn up into a ponytail was talking to him, not looking into the camera. Then, in the foreground sat two slightly younger people: a beaming boy with the same bright hair as the other two, and a rather pretty girl with curly brown hair. They were holding hands and smiling into the camera.  
  
"Is- is that them?" Iris asked in wonderment, touching the picture tentatively with a finger.  
  
"Yes," said Royal softly. "They would have just been 18."  
  
Just then, the stance the boy and girl changed. They were looking out to the side of the photograph, obviously at somebody else. Then the boy (Ron?) was beckoning to the unseen person, and the girl looked like she was sighing exasperatedly.  
  
Both Iris and Royal gasped at what happened next.  
  
Another boy bashfully entered into the scene. He looked shy, he was grinning good-naturedly, head down and not looking at the camera. He was very different to the other pictures Iris had seen of him, when he had looked older, more battle-worn, more calculating, more *dangerous.* But Iris knew that face.  
  
It was Harry Potter.  
  
She, Iris Henderson, was holding in her hand the just-discovered and oldest known photograph of Harry Potter. EVER.  
  
"Well," said Royal rather shakily. "I wasn't expecting *that.*"  
  
***  
  
"You must wonder why I was so excited when I found the photograph," said Royal sheepishly a few hours later. After both staring at the photograph for ages, Royal had rushed off to show it to the Head Commissioner of the Museum, and Iris had, rather reluctantly, gone back to her own work. They had agreed to meet up for tea to discuss what had happened, and so here they were.  
  
"Not at all," said Iris almost truthfully. "The photograph contained three of the most famous figures of the Dark Age. It had been left forgotten for hundreds of years. *Anyone* would have been... overwhelmed."  
  
"It's just- well, about four years ago, I had a blood tracing spell put on me. Just a bit of fun, you know- and the mediwitch discovered, quite by accident, that I was somehow related to Hermione and Ronald."  
  
"*Really!*" gasped Iris. "How interesting!"  
  
Royal's face shone. "I know," he said. "Just think- all my life I've read about these people, I've spent the last ten years or so devoting my life to finding out more about them, and I was related to two of them, real Dark Age *heroes,* the best friends of *Harry Potter,* all this time, and I never knew it!"  
  
"Do you know how exactly you *are* related to them?" Iris asked.  
  
"No," Royal replied. "At least, not yet. I have been researching my family tree, but it was so long ago, and the records are so patchy. During the Restoration the magical community had more important things to worry about than keeping completely accurate records. But I'm making slow progress. How about you? You *are* trying to discover the writer of the Lightning Letters, aren't you? So you don't believe it was Hermione?"  
  
"Certainly not! I don't know how that theory came to be so popular."  
  
"I agree," said Royal. "I suppose the romantic in me would like to think that Ron and Hermione were very happily married. And after researching them both, the evidence does seem to point that way. They had six children together, you know- they both seemed so content, and had such a long life together. I just can't believe that she was involved in a passionate affair with Harry all that time and then just went and married Ron."  
  
"Neither do I," said Iris. "And I don't think it was Virginia, either."  
  
"And so what's your theory?"  
  
"It's someone who was secretive, meticulous and careful. You know that the letters never refer to anyone specifically, so the identity of the author is always kept a mystery. The letters themselves contain almost no evidence of where they were sent from, what the author was doing. Both were probably fearful of the relationship coming to light. But I think, from the desperateness in them, this fear was very real, perhaps life-threatening."  
  
"Very good," said Royal, obviously rather impressed. "But just how do you propose to discover who she is?"  
  
"Two ways," Iris replied, smiling. "By looking beneath the words... and their parchment."  
  
***  
  
END OF CHAPTER 2.  
  
More to come sharpish! 


	3. Chapter 3

THE LIGHTNING LETTERS 3.  
  
"Irie! Why didn't you tell me that you were all famous?" cried Will the next morning, bursting into her room brandishing a copy of the morning paper.  
  
"Mmph," said Iris, pulling a pillow over her head.  
  
"Get up darling, and look! You're on the front page! They obviously don't have enough to write about at the moment..."  
  
Will's words finally filtered through to Iris and she quickly sat up, grabbing the paper. She took in the headline:  
  
"RARE PHOTOGRAPH OF HARRY POTTER DISCOVERED!"  
  
Sure enough, littered through the story was a picture of her, one of Royal Deayton and the actual picture in question. Iris read on:  
  
'An important new historical artefact was discovered yesterday in the Hogarth Museum archives. Royal Deayton, a Department of Ancient Artefacts employee, made the find.  
  
The photograph has been confirmed as showing several famous individuals from the Dark Age. Ron and Hermione Weasley, as well as two other Phoenix Members William and Charles Weasley can clearly be seen. But perhaps what is the most significant of all is the discovery that Harry Potter is also present in the photograph.  
  
This fact was not realised until Iris Henderson, famous historian and writer, spotted Potter, who seems unusually reluctant to appear in the photograph. Miss Henderson happened to be at work in the archive when the discovery was made.  
  
Michael Thomas, Head of the Department of Ancient Artefacts said yesterday: "This is a very important discovery. This photograph shows a very young Harry Potter, when he was no more than 18 years old. It is the oldest photograph of Harry Potter ever to be discovered."  
  
The author wonders what other priceless gems of history are waiting to be discovered in the archives, and how many have been mislaid through carelessness and neglect.'  
  
*  
  
"Oh *no,*" said poor Iris, putting down the paper. "The goblins won't like that last line at *all.* AND my name's in it. They'll hate me forever now..."  
  
"Oh, you just *happened* to be there?" said Will. "How very lucky. Who's this Royal bloke? Absolutely *appalling* name, but rather nice to look at- Iris! I do believe you're blushing! Methinks that lickle Iris has a *boyfriend!*"  
  
"He's not my bloody boyfriend!" Iris growled. "He's too... *bouncy.* I just had some tea with him, alright?"  
  
"TEA? You took an hour's time out of your oh-so-busy schedule for *tea* with Royal Deayton? It must be lurve! When's the wedding?"  
  
"Shut up, Will! At least I haven't got a crush on a bloke who's been dead for centuries!"  
  
"Never mind that!" Will said, quickly changing the subject. "Why didn't you *tell* me you were going to be in the paper?"  
  
"Because I didn't *know,*" said Iris ruefully. "And I *did* tell you about the photograph last night. You were just drunk and so you don't remember!"  
  
"I was NOT!"  
  
***  
  
After Will had (finally) forgiven her over the whole 'drunk' accusation, Iris was able to tell him her latest clues in the quest to solve the Lightning Letters mystery.  
  
"So I thoroughly examined the parchment," she said. "I also ran a few magical tests when the goblins weren't looking. It turns out the parchment is very thick, of a high quality, and extremely expensive-"  
  
"And just what exactly does that tell us?" interrupted Will.  
  
"That the writer of the letters was obviously very rich!" Iris snapped. "If she was able to afford such costly writing paper in a *war,* it's pretty certain that she had private funds. Funds that didn't just come from a job, or from the Order. She was independently wealthy."  
  
"That rules out Hermione Granger *and* Virginia Weasley," said Will, looking interested.  
  
"Precisely," Iris said triumphantly. "I also ran some tests on the actual ink. Although it's faded now, we know that it *was* bright green- emerald green. The author even says so. She wrote that it matched Harry's eyes."  
  
"Blurgh! I think I'm going to be sick," said Will, pulling a face.  
  
"It's very romantic!" Iris answered hotly. "Anyway, the ink also contained minute traces of Floo powder."  
  
"What- that old stuff they used to use to get around?"  
  
"Yes. It was in the ink on letter 32. And since the letter mentions that the author is at home at that time-"  
  
"-It's almost certain that the author came from a magical, not a Muggle background," finished Will.  
  
"See! I *knew* you would make a great detective if only you tried!"  
  
"So, to summarise, we're looking for an independently rich girl from a magical background who was afraid of being caught with Potter," finished Will.  
  
"With her own estate," added Iris.  
  
Will clapped a hand to his forehead. "Where did you get *that* idea from?" he groaned.  
  
"From history!" said Iris. "Honestly Will, you don't know anything. Letter 32 was written in 2010, yes?"  
  
"If you say so," said Will rather grumpily.  
  
"And what happened in 2010? Come on, cast your mind back to Rosemount, Will."  
  
Will scrunched up his face. It looked as if he was in pain. "There was... some sort of a fight?" he said eventually.  
  
Iris rolled her eyes. "Not just a 'fight,' Will, and not just any battle! It was the *Tottham Massacre!!*"  
  
"Er..."  
  
"It was one of the Dark Side's greatest victories! They completely crippled the Light, they killed about a THOUSAND witches and wizards! Anyone who supported the Light Side had to leave their homes and move to safe houses! Unless you owned a magical estate with wards and charms on it that had been set for centuries. Then the Death Eaters wouldn't have been able to get in."  
  
"But Irie- we don't know *when* in 2010 the letter was written, do we? It could have been *before* the Massacre."  
  
"But in the letter the author talks about 'the tragedy that passed.' I'm *sure* that's referring to Tottham."  
  
"There *is* another explanation, Iris," Will said rather slyly. "Are you sure that this girl was on the Light Side? Sure she wasn't a Death Eater?"  
  
"Oh, don't be so bloody ridiculous, Will," Iris snapped. "Do you think that *Harry Potter* would be involved with a *Death Eater?!*"  
  
"Fine, fine," Will grumbled. "So we're looking for a rich girl with her own estate from a magical background. Hey- sounds quite a catch, doesn't she? If she had her own estate, she was probably a 'pure-blood,' as they called them in those days..."  
  
"See!" Iris said happily. "We're halfway there already. Just how hard can it be?"  
  
***  
  
The answer was: very hard indeed.  
  
The records of the time were, as Royal had described them, patchy. Hardly any information on the Phoenix Order's members had been written down in case it fell into enemy hands. The Patil twins, whilst pure-bloods and quite wealthy, did not have their own estate. Neither did Susan Bones. There were several other possible candidates; but they all turned out to be red herrings. For several weeks, Iris was almost positive that the author was Magdalene Fairhurst, until she found her name listed as dead in a document of 2012. All the research had taken three, solid months, and she had no answers. Things seemed hopeless.  
  
She was re-reading the seventh letter again. Looking for any more clues, *anything* that might get her out of the rut she was in. This was the letter that revealed that the green ink had been specifically chosen- the part that Will had found so sickening. She read the line; its curious, slanted and faintly aristocratic hand:  
  
'It is both of us, love.'  
  
What, thought Iris, did this mean? That they both had green eyes? That they both... they both what? They both had green? What could the author mean by that?  
  
Her tired, itching eyes landed on 'The Boy-Who-Lived's Schooldays,' one of the many books strewn across the table. It was lying carelessly open on the first page: the one that showed the ancient Hogwarts crest. The shield. The bright green of a quarter of it.  
  
Iris stared at the shield for several seconds. Then she froze, trying to remember something, in a far, distant part of her brain. Suddenly she scrabbled for her copy of the letters, turning the pages of the worn book to the twentieth letter. There she read:  
  
'We always seem as if we are fighting, when I first glance at it. You are snarling, I am sticking out my tongue at you. But if look closer, you see that I am smiling, and you don't look so very fierce after all. In fact, you are leaving your original, designated place, and are coming ever closer, more over to me. It's all hidden in plain sight. Just like us, of course.'  
  
Iris stared. She- everyone- had always assumed that the paragraph was talking about a now-destroyed photograph of the two together. But could it be- more than that? In plain sight- what was in plainer sight than the school crest of Hogwarts? Harry- Harry was the lion in this- a member of Gryffindor house, and perhaps even a relative of Gryffindor himself. And the author- sticking out her tongue- the snake, the symbol of Slytherin house. It was green. So were Harry's eyes. It *was* both of them, then...  
  
So, a Slytherin? And, like the shield, hiding in plain sight?  
  
***  
  
END OF CHAPTER 3.  
  
A/N. I was a bit worried about this chapter, because you Americans and anyone not from the UK- you DO have a drawing of the school crest on the first page of your HP copies, don't you? I wasn't sure. If you don't, I suggest you go on the internet and find the one that's in the English versions. Cheers for the reviews, by the way! Please review again if you feel the need, I certainly won't be complaining! 


	4. Chapter 4

You don't have the school crest?? Gargh, stupid American copies! Oh well... I hope you will read the rest of the story anyway. Without further ado, here is the fourth chapter of:  
  
THE LIGHTNING LETTERS.  
  
The following day Iris got up very early and literally raced to the largest bookshop in Diagon Alley. She got there just after it opened, and was soon browsing the enormous section on the Dark Age. She needed anything on Dark Age individuals who also had happened to have been in Slytherin House.  
  
After half an hour of searching the extensive range, Iris had to admit that there seemed to be very little information on Slytherin House at all, let alone the people who had been members of it. Finally, swallowing her pride to some extent, she rather sheepishly asked the attendant for help.  
  
The woman looked quite impressed that Iris Henderson was in *her* shop and was asking *her* questions; until she heard what Iris actually wanted.  
  
"People in Slytherin House?" she asked, smile fading a bit. "What, one of the old houses, the one that Voldemort was in? Why would you want to know about them? They were all evil, weren't they?"  
  
"Well, just because Voldemort was evil and in Slytherin house, I'm not sure we can write off *everyone* who was in it, can we?" Iris asked gently.  
  
"Well, I don't know, Miss Henderson," said the woman, obviously taking offence and becoming all blustery. "I'm just repeating what I've been told..."  
  
"Problems? Ah, Miss Henderson- lovely to see you again."  
  
It was Royal Deayton.  
  
"Oh! Good morning, Mr Deayton," said the attendant, flushing slightly. "A lovely day."  
  
"Indeed it is, Miss Reilly. Anyway, I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation, Miss Henderson-"  
  
"Please, do call me Iris."  
  
"Thank-you. And you must do the same. Er- not call me Iris of course, because that wouldn't be very... I mean, do call me Roy."  
  
Iris could swear that Mr D- *Roy* was blushing ever-so-slightly.  
  
"I heard that you are looking for information on Slytherin house, Iris. Well, I don't wish to deprive you of your business Miss Reilly, but I do know of a small but well-stacked little bookshop quite close by that might have what you're looking for. If you'd like to, I could take you there..."  
  
"That would be very kind of you. If you're not too busy, that is."  
  
"Of course not. Good day, Miss Reilly." Roy bowed to the woman, the bell tinkled and they were out of the shop.  
  
Iris was just about to ask where the bookshop was when she saw that Roy was acting very strangely. He looked up and down the street, eyes narrowed, before grabbing her by the hand and pulling her down a side street.  
  
"Roy!" Iris tried to catch her breath. "What *ever* are you doing?"  
  
Roy looked at her sheepishly. "The bookshop isn't exactly situated in Diagon Alley," he whispered.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well... this bookshop is somewhat- off the beaten track. It's er- down Graveston Alley, actually. Best we're not seen, if we go."  
  
Iris looked at him appraisingly. Royal Deayton, doing anything slightly dodgy? Doing something that wasn't one hundred percent sweetness and light? Here was a new side to him! She was rather impressed.  
  
"What exactly does this bookshop sell?" she asked.  
  
Roy looked slightly relieved that she wasn't kicking up a fuss. "I *knew* you would be alright about it all! It's nothing too dire, honestly. The bookshop just sells books on rarer individuals in the Dark Ages- things not usually seen in the more popular volumes."  
  
"Sounds just what I'm looking for. Let's go!"  
  
***  
  
The bookshop was small, dank and dusty, and no cheerful little bell tinkled when they opened the door and entered.  
  
Iris walked over to the nearest shelf, lined with old books. "I've never even heard of half these titles," she remarked to Roy, touching several with a finger.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
The voice was so close and the breath so hot in her ear that Iris jumped forward, almost knocking the shelf over. She whirled round to come face-to- face with a tall but wizened old man, with a deeply lined face, strange light-blue eyes and a fine halo of utterly white hair.  
  
"Ah, Professor Ricci," said Roy, stepping forward. "I thought I'd bring this young lady here- she wants information on members of the Slytherin House during the Dark Age."  
  
The man let out a laugh that quickly turned into a hacking cough. "*Slytherin* house, you say? That's very.... unusual. Don't get much of that."  
  
He didn't volunteer any more information, and so after an uncomfortable silence, Roy began awkwardly again, "would you have any books on the subject?"  
  
"And why does the young lass want such information?" Professor Ricci asked, turning his strange eyes on Iris.  
  
"I'm writing a book," she ventured.  
  
In all but a moment, the Professor's face took on an ugly scowl. "Writing some more lies about them, eh?" he growled. "How they should all have been put to death, hmm?"  
  
"Not- not at all," Iris said nervously.  
  
Professor Ricci was nodding in a way that made it clear he didn't believe a word she said. "I'm sure, I'm sure. Let me tell you something, lass. Just because the Dark Lord was spawned from that house, doesn't mean that everyone put into it would go the same way!"  
  
"I- I didn't say that..."  
  
"Aye, but I knew what you were thinking. My family: before Hogwarts was destroyed, ten generations, all in Slytherin. You probably think *I'm* evil now, that I'll murder you in your beds, eh?"  
  
"Um... no?"  
  
"I know what you all think. Just because the Slytherins thought on their feet, were crafty and *tried to stay alive,* you blame them. Just because people of the other houses rushed in and thought later, and got themselves blown up, they were decorated as war heroes. Let me tell you, acting the fool doesn't deserve the praise. Yet *they're* the ones that are honoured now. It's an absolute disgrace. Have you heard of Severus Snape?"  
  
"Yes, I do believe that I h-"  
  
"Thought not. Now there was a crafty devil. Began spying for the Light Side even before the end of the First Uprising. Went back to it for Dumbledore in the Second. Risked his own life, saved countless others, even clever enough to stay alive throughout it all- and was he ever decorated? Of course not. Just because his family were Slytherins through and through, he was written off. Most of that damn Order saw Slytherins as not up to par, and that assumption's still carried through today. Draco Malfoy, another spy for the Light. I suppose you never heard of him neither, eh? Went against his whole family, that boy did, to help out the Order. And do we ever hear of him? No, it's Harry Potter this, Albus Dumbledore that. People don't recognise the real heroes 'cause they were real people, and we don't like that, do we. But at least *I* know who to honour for freeing us of Voldemort."  
  
"I must assure you Professor, I don't intend to write anything disparaging about anyone," snapped Iris indignantly, drawing herself up to her full (and, admittedly, rather small) height. "If people fought bravely and well then they should be remembered, whatever their faults. Now do you have the book I'm looking for, or can I have the pleasure of leaving?"  
  
Professor Ricci eyed Iris appraisingly. "I like this one," he said to Roy.  
  
***  
  
"I'm *awfully* sorry about that," Roy said afterwards, looking upset. Iris had bought a thick, heavy book, and they had left the shop. "I had no idea he would act that way. I always knew that he was rather a crotchety person- but definitely not to that extent."  
  
"Oh, you don't need to apologise," Iris said. "That bookshop is excellent, full of rare titles, and I never would have known about it if you hadn't taken me there. And as for Professor Ricci- well, I do believe that his bark is worse than his bite. But tell me- how did you find the place?"  
  
"Years ago. You know what people are like- once a place has a bad reputation, it's very hard to shake it off. I was a bit more opened-minded, did a bit of exploring on my own in Graveston, and there's nothing too awful down there at all. During the Restoration anything slightly Dark Arts was utterly destroyed, as you know, and Knockturn Alley was torn down. People nowadays are a bit *too* careful, if you ask me. Oh, I know they never want a repeat performance of the Dark Age, but it doesn't mean they shouldn't be open to new ideas. There's been no real Dark Arts activity in Britain for two centuries."  
  
"Don't you believe we should be vigilant, and careful?"  
  
"Yes, of course," answered Roy with a slightly sarcastic smile. "But I think it goes a bit far if you're not able to find a spell that will exterminate a few cockroaches."  
  
They continued down the street for a few more seconds in silence, until Roy asked, "this book you've just bought. I take it it's to do with your research into the Lightning Letters?"  
  
"Yes," Iris said, quite eager to share her findings with another historian. "I believe I'm very close now."  
  
"I take it it's a Slytherin, then," Roy said with a slight grin. "However did I guess that?"  
  
"I admire your powers of deduction," Iris answered jokingly. "Well, we're looking for a financially independent Slytherin, possibly with ties within the Death Eaters, and almost certainly with her own estate."  
  
Roy's eyebrows shot up. "Well, you certainly have been busy," he said. "All that accomplished in a few months. You must have been working awfully hard."  
  
They walked on a little more.  
  
"Well," said Iris, as they reached her street, "this is where I live."  
  
"Will you owl me?" Roy asked suddenly. "I mean... if you work out who it is, or- or need to go on another research mission- I'm always there to help."  
  
"If you really want me to-" answered Iris, rather taken aback by his earnestness.  
  
Roy nodded once, gave her a swift smile and was gone, all with a swish of his cloak.  
  
***  
  
The book Iris had bought was very concise, informative and extensive.  
  
But no girl in it fit the bill.  
  
Iris just couldn't understand it. She had been so *sure* that the girl was a Slytherin. After eliminating all the Slytherins who were known Death Eaters, or who had died before the last date of the Lightning Letters, the options were very few. Unless Harry Potter's mystery girl was much older than him (by at least 30 years) she was nowhere to be found.  
  
Iris sighed, flipping through the book once more. She had no idea where to go from here. The thick text was in alphabetical order. She turned a few pages, passing 'Litten, Latina' until a name caught her eye:  
  
'Malfoy, Draco.'  
  
Professor Ricci had said something about him, hadn't he? Slightly curious, Iris read on:  
  
'Draco Malfoy was the only son and heir of the wealthy Malfoy estate. Despite his family's teachings and traditions (see Malfoy, Lucius) Malfoy turned his back on the Dark Side, and worked undercover as a Death Eater spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He survived the war, but died soon afterwards.'  
  
Hmm. Iris chuckled to herself. If only this Draco Malfoy was a girl, her quest would probably be at an end. A Slytherin, with money and an estate, and in real fear of the relationship coming to light because of his being a spy. Unless Will had been right all along, and Harry Potter's lover actually *was* a boy...  
  
Then Iris suddenly froze. Draco... Draco- that name... she knew that it meant something, in Latin, it-  
  
It meant snake. *Snake.*  
  
The letter said:  
  
'We always seem as if we are fighting, when I first glance at it. You are snarling, I am sticking out my tongue at you.'  
  
What if the letter had meant not just a member of the Slytherin house, but someone with the actual *namesake,* a snake twice over...  
  
What if the author of the Lightning Letters was Draco Malfoy?  
  
***  
  
END OF CHAPTER 4.  
  
A/N: Yes, I know that 'Draco' means 'dragon'- but it also can mean 'snake' in Latin too! I promise! Thanks for all the reviews! 


	5. Chapter 5

TH E LIGHTNING LETTERS 5.  
  
"Irie? Irie, whatever are you doing, dear? If I didn't know you so well, I would actually believe you were deep in thought," commented Will, as he entered the flat.  
  
"Will- can't you just be serious for one minute? I'm trying to work out something here!"  
  
"Ah, in your non-existent book, my darling? How's that panning out for you?"  
  
"Will- just Shut. Up. I think I've solved it. But if I'm wrong- if it turns out to be completely wrong I'll just *die.*"  
  
Morose thinking before Iris had even touched any alcohol? This was very serious indeed. Will cautiously sat down next to Iris on the sofa, where she was lounging.  
  
"So you've solved it," he said, slightly confused. "I thought that that was the whole point?"  
  
"Of *course* it is," answered Iris.  
  
"Well- who is she?"  
  
"It's a *boy.*"  
  
At these words, Will froze incredulously for a minute, before bursting into laughter.  
  
"I- I *knew* it!" he gasped out. "I just *knew* it! Remember, I came up with the theory first of all. Just you remember to put *that* in the book. I'm going to be famous!"  
  
"That's not the point," said Iris.  
  
"Then what is? You can't tell me that you're horrified that Harry Potter was gay, Iris. I know you too well for that."  
  
"Of course I don't care!" snapped Iris. "Honestly, how could you think that? But if and when I publish my theory- oh, *you* know what some of the other historians are like, Will! They wouldn't accept it! They just won't accept that if Harry Potter had lived, he wouldn't have married some girl and had seven children. I'd be torn to pieces."  
  
"Iris Henderson!" said Will, looking very angry. "You don't mean to tell me that you're *afraid?*"  
  
"It's just- I don't know..."  
  
"If you back out of this now, you're not the person I thought you were," said Will, looking incredibly indignant. "I can't *believe* you!"  
  
"I didn't *say* I was going to back out!" growled Iris. "It's just- you do realise how much of a big deal this is, don't you Will? I mean, *really?*"  
  
"Do you think I'm an idiot?" snapped Will. "Alright, it'll cause a huge sensation. But that's obviously a good thing! We need to force the world to see that not everything is as black and white and clear-cut as they would like to believe!"  
  
Iris smiled faintly. Funny. That was just what Roy had said that afternoon.  
  
"But- but I don't even have any real solid proof yet," she said.  
  
"Then," said Will, "I suggest we find some. And by the way, who is this boy? Good-looking at all?"  
  
Iris rolled her eyes.  
  
***  
  
Iris was in a state of shock. Will was actually *helping* her. Real, actual *help.* Not rubbishy help like he sometimes half-heartedly gave, in the form of thumbing quickly through a book and declaring it useless. He was actually finding out *very useful things.*  
  
"Right," he said after half an hour looking through several of Iris's books on Dark Age Structures. "Turns out the Malfoy Manor is still standing. It's just got a different name. Draco Malfoy died soon after Voldemort's defeat apparently, and since he'd had no children or siblings the estate got passed on to a second cousin or something like that. They changed the name of it to get rid of the bad blood surrounding it- it's called Reynold Hall now, and it's in Yorkshire. Shall we go there?"  
  
Iris blinked. "What, right *now?*" she asked.  
  
It was Will's turn to roll his eyes. "Irie my sweet, it's nine o'clock in the evening. I doubt we'd really be welcome."  
  
"But what are we going to look for there?"  
  
"Iris, *you're* the historian. Bloody hell, do I have to do *all* the work round here? I'm sure you'll find something to keep you occupied. Just you make sure to prove your theory!"  
  
Iris did do something that night. She owled Roy Deayton. She wasn't entirely sure if she should; but after thinking about her theory more and more, convincing herself even more strongly that she was correct, and remembering what he had said, she swallowed her misgivings and sent a tentative note. The letter did not explain her theory, which she had decided to keep quiet; but it did invite him on a trip to Reynold Hall. Iris left the reason for the visit ambiguous; she wanted solid proof before sharing her conclusion with a fellow historian. She soon received an enthusiastic reply from Roy, and she knew she had made the right decision.  
  
***  
  
The following afternoon, with Roy arriving ten minutes early like the well- behaved young man he was, and Will making them wait about two hours because he was fussing about what one wore to a country estate, they were finally ready to go. Iris was getting even more nervous now, and even more unsure of herself. She was only 24; was she arrogant enough to think that she had solved the mystery when countless other, much more experienced historians had failed? Will agreed with her theory, but well- it was *Will.* Not exactly the most reliable person in the world. Iris comforted herself with the fact that the owner of the house would not know why they were there.  
  
In the end, it turned out that the owner was not there in any case. Their plea was met by the housekeeper of the Hall; a tall, upright and proud- looking woman of about fifty, with white-blonde hair and cool blue eyes. She informed them that her name was Irene Tetson. She was a relative of the owner, a Professor Reynold, and looked after everything whilst he was away. After Roy and Will's immense flattery of her, the Hall, the grounds and of course her again, she finally agreed to show them around.  
  
This actually was a blessing in disguise. The woman turned out to be a walking encyclopaedia of all facts pertaining to the Malfoy line. As she led them through the house, she told them all the history about every item in the Hall. Roy and Iris were in seventh heaven. Will- well, to put it mildly, Will was incredibly bored.  
  
Miss Tetson led them down an incredibly long, open gallery, covered with portraits all the way along.  
  
"It was a Malfoy tradition that the heir to the estate was painted in his 21st year," she announced. "This tradition was continued throughout Voldemort's reign, to the very end."  
  
Iris and Roy looked around interestedly. Even Will seemed to have perked up a bit. Every picture contained a proud, haughty individual, with white- blond hair like Miss Tetson's, accompanied with piercing blue or grey eyes. Iris could certainly see the family resemblance. The pictures were all moving, usually only slightly, lifting things on and off a table, others reading a book, one stroking his pet owl. Despite this continued movement, they all seemed as unruffled as ever. They nodded to the visitors in a distant way, and a few of the more friendly ones called out a "good morning," in cool voices. Iris felt rather out-of-place. These men seemed a world away from her, in their old-fashioned clothes and with their strange way of speaking. She had not seen very many moving portraits in her life.  
  
This continued until they had walked the whole length of the gallery. Miss Tetson was just about to turn and bring them back, when Will suddenly piped up, "where's Draco Malfoy's portrait, please? We were particularly anxious to see him."  
  
Miss Tetson turned and fixed her piercing eyes on Will, somehow not as dismissively as before. "It's in the corner," she said. There was slight reluctance in her voice.  
  
Iris, Royal and Will all walked over to the place she pointed to, at the very end, and in the darkest part of the room. Royal muttered a lighting spell, and they could see the painting clearly. He looked slightly puzzled as to why Iris and Will were so interested in seeing him.  
  
Iris stared at the young man, dressed in black and sitting on a high-backed chair. He had the same platinum-blonde hair as his ancestors, grey eyes, and a sharp, striking face. But that wasn't the thing Iris noticed first.  
  
"Good God!" Royal burst out, staring at the portrait. "It's not-"  
  
"It's not moving. At all," Iris murmured, finishing his sentence for him. She was somehow transfixed.  
  
It was perfectly true. In all the other paintings, the Malfoy heir had nodded, or blinked, or had done *something.* This was different. The young man sat on the chair, surveying them all, but did not move an inch. Iris then noticed the deadened, painful and hopeless look in his gaze. The face was bloodless, the mouth a straight, thin line. Iris could not even detect him breathing.  
  
Will cleared his throat. "Excuse me- but what's wrong with him?" he asked Miss Tetson.  
  
Miss Tetson looked reluctant. "It's always been like that, for as long as I've been here, and longer," she answered. "It's very strange. The portrait *should* move, there's nothing wrong with it- but it just *won't.* Legend has it that at Voldemort's defeat, Draco Malfoy's portrait jumped up from the chair, yelled at something nobody else could see, before sinking back down on the seat and not moving a bit since then. It's not right. It frightens many people who come here, and I asked the Professor if I could take it down- but he refused. It turned out to be rather prophetic, in fact."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Roy.  
  
"I mean that life imitated the painting. It's well-known that Draco Malfoy came back here after the Bermodsey Battle. He had been a spy, you know- and many just thought he wanted a bit of peace and quiet. I don't know what happened during the Final Stand, but after it Draco Malfoy never spoke again, just like his painting. He was sick of life, I believe. He just wasted away to nothing. Six months later he was dead, and the Manor was handed over to the Reynold family."  
  
A silence followed these words. Roy, Iris and Will all exchanged glances.  
  
"Well," said Miss Tetson briskly, "shall we continue on?"  
  
The two men followed her down the long, matted gallery. Iris just took the time to whisper, "*Harry Potter,*" to the painting, watch its head rushed up to meet hers, a keen interest in the face at last. The two pairs of eyes met for a second, and the look seemed to last for hours. Then a call from Will made Iris jerk guiltily away from the portrait. She walked quickly away from it to catch up with the others, feeling as if she had been caught doing something wrong; but with a new knowledge in her heart.  
  
***  
  
"This is the study, where the Malfoys wrote their correspondence," Miss Tetson announced, showing them into a large, square room. "It is situated just across from the owlery. There's also a lovely view of the grounds from this window."  
  
Will went to look out, but Iris had seen something else of interest. She grabbed at Roy's arm.  
  
"*Look,*" she whispered, pointing.  
  
At one side of the room there stood a glass case. Iris pulled Roy over to it.  
  
"The case is filled with letters," called Miss Tetson from the window. "It shows how they used to owl people at the time- with actual *parchment.*"  
  
Iris didn't care about that. She was staring at one letter, located on the right in the case. There was nothing very interesting about its contents:  
  
'Tell mother I hope her cold gets better soon. Has she taken enough Pepper- Up Potion?'  
  
The sign next to it said: 'Note written home from school by Draco Malfoy.'  
  
And Iris recognised that writing. The elegant, thin script.  
  
It was the same as the Lightning Letters. She had proof at last.  
  
Her reverie was broken by Roy Deayton. "What?" he asked, perplexed. "What do you see?"  
  
In her excitement, Iris had forgotten that Roy did not know of her theory.  
  
"Look," she hissed, pointing at the letter. "It's the same handwriting as the Lightning Letters. Potter's mystery lover- it was *Draco Malfoy.*"  
  
Roy's mouth dropped open. He stared at Iris, then at the letter, and then at Miss Tetson, who was regarding them both suspiciously from the other side of the room. Even Will was looking up at them now. Roy glanced back at Iris, and came to the conclusion that she was absolutely serious.  
  
"The grounds look lovely," he said aloud to Miss Tetson, utterly disregarding the fact that he could hardly see them from his current position. "Would we be able to walk in them, do you think?"  
  
As Miss Tetson led them through the Hall, Roy kept a grip on Iris's arm. As soon as they were out into the gardens, and he had shooed a slightly confused Will away, he turned to Iris.  
  
"You think the author of the Lightning Letters was *Draco Malfoy?*" he asked, looking for assurance.  
  
"Not *think,*" said Iris. "I *know* so. As soon as I've done a test on the letter in that case and the original copies of The Lightning Letters, I'll have the real, solid proof. Nobody can deny it then."  
  
"You'll be famous, Iris," said Roy. "I-"  
  
"-You'll be listed in the book," interrupted Iris. "And so will Will. And Draco Malfoy can have his name put to The Lightning Letters at last, where he deserved to have it all along. But can you imagine what it must have been like?" Iris turned to Roy. "It's not even romantic, not really, although I'm sure it'll be painted as such. Imagine having to live like that for over a decade. Always having to look over your shoulder, not even able to tell those around you that you're with someone. And the *letters.* Imagine loving someone *that much* that you can write such *things* to them? Such *words* that even today, 800 years afterwards, they still touch people, they still speak to people, people still *understand* them."  
  
There was a thoughtful silence. Then Iris gasped, looking up to Roy with tears in her eyes. "Oh god- Roy! Imagine! They'd waited over *ten years* for a chance to be together properly- they both worked so hard, so dangerously to defeat Voldemort, and what did they get in return? One was killed in the effort, defending it. Us. And it hurt Draco Malfoy so much that his even *portrait* knew it, as much as the real one did... and he *couldn't* go on without Harry- it killed him; or he killed himself. I wonder what really happened in that battle- I wonder what Draco Malfoy saw. I wonder if he saw Harry cut down, right in front of him. Can you imagine what that must have felt like? Can you ever imagine *feeling* that much?" Iris finished in awe.  
  
Roy regarded her seriously. "You know the academics won't like this. At all," he said.  
  
"I've already realised that, thank-you very much."  
  
"What I'm trying to say is... if you ever need anyone to back you up- I mean, *professionally,* I'm always there to..."  
  
Iris smiled, and took his hand. "Thank-you, Roy," she said. "I understand."  
  
Roy flushed slightly, but gave her a grin.  
  
They continued slowly through the grounds, following the far-ahead figured of Will and Miss Tetson. As they walked, Iris's mind was full of a jumble of things. Of her book, of what it would mean, what it would signify for them all. But mostly with the thought of that pale, cold face, who she now knew had written such words that had haunted people for so many years. And what had been the purpose? To be forgotten, the feelings you had had to be disregarded, and your only known legacy a deadened portrait. She would write about Draco Malfoy in her book, of course she would; she would find everything she could find out about him- but that certainly wouldn't make up for it all.  
  
Then what *had* it all been for? Iris decided, at last, that it was for others to *live.* These two men, and countless other witches and wizards had sacrificed themselves so that others could go on after them, living in peace and security without fear. Well, she certainly would not let them down.  
  
"Look, Irie!" called Will from ahead. "Real, live *gnomes!*"  
  
Laughing slightly at Will's excited tone of voice, Iris took Roy's hand again, and pulled him until they were running towards her friend.  
  
The truth would be out, soon enough.  
  
THE END.  
  
  
  
A/N: And so ends The Lightning Letters. I hope you all enjoyed it! If you'd like to know more about this fic, please read the notes that follow.  
  
  
  
WHY is Iris so wary to share her discovery with the rest of the wizarding world? Why does she think they'll be a huge uproar? Well, quite simply, it's this: during the Dark Age, Voldemort came up with a way to ultimately destroy those who opposed him. He and his minions created the Blood Curse (mentioned briefly in chapter 1). This spell would not only target the *principle* enemy; but also anyone related (by blood) to him or her. Voldie was able to wipe out whole families this way. Luckily, the spell was very hard to perform, and he wasn't able to target ALL of his enemies, but certainly enough to cause a whole lot of damage. The main target of the curse would die horribly first; followed by his siblings and then his children. Then the curse would be slightly muted, and would usually not kill the principle's grandchildren or nephews and nieces, causing sickness in them instead. But the effects of the Curse were always there, lurking in the background, and it could strike at any moment. Many families under the spell chose not to have children in case they too were affected. The result was that the comparatively small UK magical population was horribly diminished. They NEEDED people to have children. If your family weren't part of a Blood Curse, or if the risk of you passing it on to your offspring was small, you were absolutely expected to get married and have as many children as you could. This obviously wasn't too great for those who preferred their own sex. After a few generations, they were looked down on as 'not contributing' by others. This continued until all but a few of the Blood Curses were eradicated, about 200 years before this story takes place. Although gay witches and wizards are not looked down on anymore as they once were, the mindset of many (particularly the older generations) is one of distaste.  
  
And what do I think my original characters look like? Well, I didn't describe Iris and Will at all in this. It's up to you to imagine what they look like, but in my opinion, Will is basically a camper Rupert Everett with exactly the same voice. He's sort of based on a friend of mine- except that my friend is even *more* annoying :)! Iris is pretty short, with lots of curves and straight, tied-up black hair. She's not really a beauty but has an intelligent, sharp kind of face. She'd have been a bit of an outspoken Ravenclaw, of course.  
  
And Roy- I kind of described him already- very tall, kind of gangly, and a Thoroughly Nice Chap with some Hidden Mischievous Leanings.  
  
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this fic. I thought it was kind of different from what you usually read in fan fiction. And I tried hard not to create any Mary-Sues. I hope I succeeded!  
  
Someone asked what was different about the future. Well, some things have stayed exactly the same. They still owl, there's still a Diagon Alley, and they still wear some form of cloaks. But they don't have wands. Instead, a sort of mini-wand is placed under the skin of one of their hands. Then you can't lose it! Good idea, huh? Also, during the Restoration anything vaguely dark was destroyed, including Knockturn Alley. Graveston Alley is built on its remains. Also, Hogwarts has been destroyed, leaving Rosemount instead. The people in this society are very conscious of their past, and are determined not to let it happen again.  
  
Although I thought there wouldn't be, I might write a sequel to this relatively soon. I'm definitely not going to write a prequel, however- much too depressing! I won't be writing the Lightning Letters either. I've never been in love like that so obviously I wouldn't be able to do them justice. They're meant to be the best-written thing in the history of the wizarding world- and so obviously I wouldn't be able to do them well enough. I'll just leave it up to you to imagine them. Thanks again- and please review if you can! 


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